Talking with Boureima during his short stay, I became conscious of the inherent contradictions that African museums represent. Contemporary African museums inherited their collections from the European colonial governments that established them. Colonial museums in Africa were originally created for the enjoyment of white visitors; black Africans were not admitted.

Their collections consisted primarily of traditional objects – masks, sculptures, and other artifacts – that were often displayed to demonstrate the inferiority of the African cultures represented. In many cases objects were acquired by reprehensible means – deceit, theft and violence. So now we come to the place where the contradiction gets really complicated: The collecting practices were shameful, but some of those objects represent traditions that have almost disappeared. If they had not been “collected” they might have disappeared, along with memories of the understandings they represent. Another complication: according to Boureima, few ordinary Africans today are interested in visiting a museum to view such objects. Whether because they feel disgust at the colonial repression such collections represent, or because they would rather experience traditional material culture within the context of events and practices that have survived in the villages, many Africans consider the museums in their countries to be irrelevant to the lives they live today.

What a conundrum! Collections that represent traditional knowledge and worldviews in danger of being lost, held by museums that have bad karma, are under-funded and run by staffs with little opportunity to develop their professional skills, and are unsupported by the public. Why should Africans or Americans care about the potential loss of these objects and traditions as African museums crumble or are destroyed in the violence of civil war? Aren’t phones and the Internet, banks and commercial development, and, most of all, effective education and health care the most urgent concerns for all of us? Of course all of these are vitally important.

Here’s where I started to think about an analogy that might be found in environmental studies: biodiversity. We know that when species are lost, the healthy diversity of the gene pool and of life forms in the ecosystem is weakened. More homogeneity equals heightened vulnerability to disease, climate change and other threats Diversity is nature’s insurance policy. It allows life forms to adapt and respond to challenges. The earth is itself a complex, healthy system when diversity is maintained. Is it reasonable to think in a similar way about culture? As we lose languages and ways of understanding the world, is human potential somehow diminished? As mass communication and a global economy prevail, is it possible we lose ways of thinking, distinguishing and valuing that could make human life more creative, compassionate and resilient?

I don’t know the answers, but I’m asking – thanks in great part to two days spent with Boureima Diamitani – a man who has dedicated his life to these questions. I hope this is the start of an on-going conversation between the IMA and WAMP.

One of my favorite pieces in the IMA’s collection is a delicately textured work entitled Duvor, or ‘Communal Cloth,’ by Ghanian born artist El Anatsui. He lives and works in Nigeria as a sculptor and professor.

Duvor is a shimmery, undulating sculpture, made from thousands of collected bottle caps and copper wire, and reminiscent of fabric or chain mail. It hangs in the hallway of the second floor, between the African and Fashion Textile Galleries. Smart move, IMA. This work will stop you in your tracks.

Duvor is captivating, and it makes a strong statement about tradition, trash, beauty and modern Africa. Sustainability is a buzzword now popular in relation to global warming and going green, but not necessarily something I expected to find at IMA. He confronts the social problem of trash by transforming and repurposing it, sustainability at its most beautiful. The patterning is homage to the textiles of Western Africa, including Kente cloth, a woven textile which is known as nwentoma in Ghana.

Anatsui’s sculpture background is evident in the delicate forms created by the rippling and bunching of his ‘fabric,’ something I would guess is not easy to coax out of bits of metal. The installation process with the IMA team shows how he works with the metal until he gets it just right.

As I have thought about this work, fueled by recent readings, I have been thinking about how something like this is classified. Duvor is many things. It is inherently African. It was created in 2007, so it is contemporary. It is also technically a part of the Fashion and Textile collection here at the museum. I know that designating categories is how we find things; we sort by time, place, origin, material, color, size, etc. But I wonder if something like this can ever be all three, equally. Is it just our nature to want a primary category?

Ultimately, where does this object fit in? Who should decide where it goes? Ponder that, and discover some things you might not have already known.

• El Anatsui studied Sculpture and Art Education, and teaches at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka.

• Ghana and Nigeria are along the West coast of Africa.

• It is 5765 Miles from Indianapolis to Accra, Ghana.

• The word Kente comes from kenten, for basket.

• Kente cloth patterns are associated with stories and proverbs, which give the specific patterns their names.

• Recycling aluminum saves 95% of the energy cost of processing it new.

• One recycled aluminum can saves enough energy to run a T.V. for 3 hours.